


Prime Minister's Questions

by magog_83



Series: Meeting the Minister [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magog_83/pseuds/magog_83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's attempt to connect with middle Britain is sabotaged, Merlin is indiscreet and <i>The Daily Prophet</i> gets the scoop of the year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prime Minister's Questions

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part of my Meeting the Minister verse. Some jokes might not make sense if you haven't read the previous two.

In the three and a half weeks since they’d had their eventful diplomatic meeting, Arthur thought things had been going rather well. True, it had taken Morgana some time to get used to the twice daily owls. It had taken Arthur quite a while himself, especially when he realised Merlin often had nothing more interesting to write than ‘HELLO, HOW’S YOUR DAY?’ ‘GAIUS IS GIVING ME THE EYEBROW. SEND HELP,’ and on one occasion, ‘THERE’S A NURGLE LOOSE IN THE MINISTRY. THINKING OF YOU.’ He would be lying however if he said he didn’t look forward to the sound of flapping wings now, although Morgana’s claim that he “mooned” over the short notes they brought was a blatant horrible lie.

To no-one’s surprise, Morgana had taken the news of a secret magical world with aplomb and Arthur had since overheard her asking Lance if it was possible for muggles to purchase hexes. As for Merlin, his every appearance and letter seemed to afford her endless amusement, not least the time she walked straight into Arthur’s private office to find Arthur and Merlin kissing on the antique baize sofa (Edwin had gone to get a new book from his portrait in the library and Merlin had taken the opportunity to sneak through the fireplace and jump Arthur when he was in the middle of reading the preliminary budget). To Arthur’s eternal horror, she’d just smirked at them both and left them to it with a final reminder that if Arthur’s productivity went down she would be sure to brick up the fireplace. From that day onwards, Merlin had made sure to be as polite as possible to Morgana and even called her Miss Lefay, which Arthur thought was just ridiculous.

But there were limits, even to Arthur’s new found tolerance for the illogical and unexpected. Like right now, for example, when he was beginning to suspect that not all the members of the Lampley Stoke Women’s Institute who had turned out to hear his speech were, in fact, members of the Lampley Stoke Women’s Institute.

First there had been the truly terrifying bottle-blonde woman who had accosted him in the (supposedly private) gent’s toilet and asked him how he felt about sex-fuelled political corruption in high office. Arthur had still been gaping at her, and trying to hold his trousers together, when Lance had burst in and escorted her from the premises. After that disconcerting beginning, he had barely summoned up any surprise for the middle aged man in a magenta smoking jacket snapping his picture. Then there were the teenage girls who glared at him when he answered a perfectly normal enquiry as to how he was enjoying his first weeks in office. When he’d mentioned the amount of sleepless nights (normal for any Prime Minister surely), one of them had actually burst into tears and had to be led away by two of her friends.

All in all, his attempt to ‘connect with middle Britain’ was not going to plan, and even his PR officer seemed taken aback by the number of extremely personal questions posed in the Q&A session after lunch. Arthur had no idea what a ‘veela’ was, or whether he had one in his family, and it really wasn’t anyone’s business if he intended to get married one day or how truly committed he had been in past relationships.

The afternoon tea that followed was a nightmare. His tea mysteriously and painfully spilled over his lap, the chutney on his cheese scone cemented his teeth together and he had to pretend not to see the row of teenagers smirking at him through the window as Lance helped him out to the car (he couldn’t even open his mouth to say goodbye). The final straw however was the old lady who was waiting to smack him over the head with her handbag and threaten to turn him into a flobberworm if he didn’t ‘measure up’.

It was clear to Arthur that there could be only one person responsible for the awfulness of his day. That that person just happened to have a pet flobberworm called Herman only served to strengthen his conviction.

“Is he here?” he demanded, some half an hour later as he strode into the private lobby of 10 Downing Street with uncomfortably tea-damp trousers and aching teeth (Lance had subtly un-cemented them in the car).

Morgana turned another page of her newspaper before she consented to look up. “If you are referring to your ridiculous boyfriend, yes he is. Gaius marched him into your office not half an hour ago and demanded a large whisky.” She smirked. “For himself of course. Merlin is, and I quote, ‘never to touch alcohol again, if he has to take an unbreakable vow to make sure of it.’ Do I even want to know, Arthur?”

Arthur adopted his most Prime Ministerial expression, which was somewhat undermined by the large wet patch over his crotch. “It is a personal matter, Morgana. Please make sure I am not disturbed.”

Morgana snorted. “I think it’s too late for that.”

Unfortunately Arthur couldn’t think of a good come-back to that so he was forced to settle for pulling a face and then immediately regretting it when Morgana raised her phone and snapped a picture, grinning at him triumphantly.

“Remind me to fire you when my meeting is over,” Arthur said, with what was left of his dignity as he turned and strode quickly towards his office.

“Try not to have sex on the sofa again,” Morgana called after him. “The upholstery is impossible to clean.”

Arthur blamed Morgana entirely for his need to slam his office door behind him with more force that was strictly necessary. Unfortunately his dramatic entrance had the effect of causing Merlin to knock over Arthur’s brand new desk lamp as he leapt to his feet, looking terrified.

“Arthur!” he said loudly, fixing the lamp with a wave of his hand. “What a surprise!”

“It’s my office,” said Arthur, somewhat grumpily (his teeth really did hurt).

“Oh, yes, so it is,” Merlin looked shocked by the realisation. He hurried over to dust a few remaining crumbs of cheese scone from Arthur’s tie, and Arthur tried very hard to hold onto his grumpiness. Because he was grumpy. He had very good reason to be. Only it was hard to remember when Merlin was that close and looking so worried, Arthur had found he had very little defence against a worried Merlin, or one that was leaning close enough to...

Gaius’s loud clearing of the throat soon reminded him of the more important matter at hand. Arthur stepped back, and determinedly focused instead on just how hot that tea had been and how little he wished to be a flobberworm for the rest of his life, even one as well cared for as Herman.

“I take it you know what I want to talk to you about,” he said firmly.

“No,” said Merlin unconvincingly. “It’s been a really quiet day for me, I haven’t seen anything unusual at all.”

“I’m afraid that Merlin might have been rather indiscreet at the reception for the Albanian Ambassador yesterday afternoon,” Gaius interrupted in a long suffering tone.

“There was a buffet,” said Merlin immediately, abandoning his attempts at discretion. “And they brought wine! I was only trying to practice drinking it; I didn’t know what I was doing. I don’t remember anything.”

“I will spare you the embarrassing details,” Gaius said, with a quelling look at Merlin. “Suffice it to say, a substantial group of ministry officials, three cleaners, a reporter and five confused Albanians learned more about your and Merlin’s, ahem, relationship, than they either needed or wished to know.”

“Oh god,” said Arthur, wishing Gaius hadn’t finished off the whisky.

“Indeed,” said Gaius. “As you might expect, the news is now out and I have it on good authority the Daily Prophet is planning a special edition on Love Between Two Worlds as part of their _Mingling with Muggles_ series and wish you to do a photo shoot.”

“Really?” said Merlin, perking up. Then he caught Gaius’s eye and added, “oh my god, how awful,” in a shocked and horrified tone that didn’t convince anyone. Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that Merlin was thinking of his scrapbook of Arthur press clippings. Arthur had discovered the scrapbook on his first (and so far only) visit to Merlin’s cottage, just after he’d nearly been eaten alive by an enormous plant that seemed to be guarding the front door (Merlin maintained it had been welcoming him) and been introduced to Herman. However, that was clearly not the point.

“ _Everyone_ knows?” If this leaked to the Muggle press, the tabloids were going to have a field day.

“Well, not everyone,” said Merlin comfortingly. “Hermione and Ron are still on holiday.”

Arthur didn’t see how that was supposed to make him feel better. Then he remembered the angry teenagers and the old woman. “Oh god, everyone in the wizarding world hates me.”

“That’s not true!” said Merlin stoutly. “I don’t hate you at all.”

Gaius rolled his eyes. Arthur really couldn’t blame him.

“Merlin, I know you don’t hate me. I’m talking about the people who tried to cement my teeth together with chutney.”

Merlin looked outraged. “Who did that? Shall I hex them for you?”

Gaius cuffed him around the head.

“I didn’t _mean_ it. I would never do that.” Merlin proceeded to widen his eyes at Arthur meaningfully, suggesting he would in fact do that very easily should Arthur ask. Arthur refused to feel warmed by his desire to hex innocent civilians on his behalf.

“I believe the more important question is just how we’re going to handle this _unfortunate_ development.” Gaius produced a sheet of paper from thin air with a flourish and a stern look at them both. “I have arranged a meeting for first thing tomorrow so we can co-ordinate our response and decide how to handle the release of this information to the Muggle public.”

“The Muggle public?” Arthur managed faintly. Merlin helpfully started fanning him with a rolled up copy of the latest MI5 briefing.

Gaius put his glasses on, the better to peer at Arthur over the top of them. “Of course. Do you think we’ll be able to keep this a secret now? I happen to know there are at least three witches and wizards working for The Daily Mail, and they’ve all dabbled in the Dark Arts so you’d best be on your guard. Naturally they won’t give the full story, but they will at least be interested in the relationship between you, and the fact that Merlin is a man. We will, of course, have to give him something of a new identity, certainly a more acceptable job.”

“I could be a fireman!” said Merlin.

“No,” said Gaius, barely pausing for breath.

Merlin looked disappointed, something Arthur did not find adorable. At all.

“If we say nine o’clock, Arthur?” Gaius was looking at him expectantly so Arthur nodded, feeling the familiar bewilderment that seemed to accompany so many of his encounters with the magical world, even now. “Excellent. I will leave you two to discuss this privately then. I only ask you to try to remember that between you, you _are_ running the country.” Upon that timely reminder, Gaius removed his glasses, pocketed them carefully and disapparated right in the middle of Arthur’s office, leaving the papers from Arthur’s over-full in-tray swirling in his wake.

There was a short silence as the papers settled all over the antique rug.

“So,” said Merlin brightly. “How was your day?”

Arthur just glared at him and began tugging at his tie, needing to take it off before he could be tempted to hang himself with it. After a tense moment, Merlin stepped forward to help, untangling the knot Arthur had managed to make with caution, eyes downcast and ears red. “I am sorry you know, about the...” he wiggled his fingers a little, then looked sad. “I don’t think I should try any more wine.”

“I think that would be best,” said Arthur, as Merlin finally succeeded in pulling the tie loose and sliding it off.

“I don’t know how you Muggles cope with it.”

Arthur rubbed at his neck, feeling like all his muscles were in one big knot, and without thinking said, “We don’t, not at first. The first time I got drunk I threw up in my father’s priceless Ming vase and passed out in the shrubbery.”

Merlin snorted, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement, and Arthur was horribly tempted to kiss him there and then, even though he shouldn’t, because he was still annoyed about the tea and the chutney and being accosted in the toilets by strange women. Merlin looked like he wanted him to too though, leaning forward just a little and looking hopeful.

“But that doesn’t mean I forgive you,” said Arthur, before he could be tempted any further, and Merlin nodded very seriously, appearing the very picture of sincere repentance. “And I’m not doing a photo-shoot,” Arthur added, just to be clear.

Merlin nodded again, and began rubbing very distracting circles into the skin beneath Arthur’s now loosened collar. “We can just do an interview,” he said.

Arthur let his head drop onto Merlin’s shoulder and groaned.

“Unless...” Now Merlin sounded nervous again. “Unless you didn’t want anyone to know at all?”

Arthur thought about that for all of five seconds. He couldn’t say he was overjoyed to know the wizarding world was talking about him and Merlin’s relationship, not least because he still had no idea just what exactly Merlin had told them (he didn’t know if he wanted to know either), but it had taken him less than a week to know he was utterly besotted with Merlin, pet flobberworm and Arthur-eating plant and all, so this was only speeding up the inevitable, really.

He raised his head and tried to focus on Merlin’s too close face. “Don’t be an idiot,” he said and was utterly unsurprised when Merlin immediately kissed him, holding onto him so tightly he began to worry about his air supply. The kiss was just starting to get interesting when Arthur was crushingly reminded of the less welcome side of wizarding life.

“If you’re going to do that, could you do it elsewhere? I may be a painting, but I can still vomit.”

Arthur ignored him, having grown increasingly used to interfering paintings over the past few weeks, especially ones called Edwin. However, Edwin did have a point, this was definitely not the place.

“I should probably go home,” he said at last, even though ‘home’ meant ‘upstairs to the flat.’ After the nightmare of his day out, he couldn’t face an evening of work.

“I should come with you,” Merlin said promptly, “You shouldn’t be alone after a shock and someone might have used a slow acting hex. I better stay with you to make sure.”

Arthur gave Merlin a look. Merlin adopted an expression that conveyed his deep concern for Arthur’s wellbeing. When that didn’t work, he added, “I’ve brought my toothbrush,” and gave a winning smile.

Arthur could pretend to mind, but he was still sticking to his vow to lie as little as possible, and anyway, this wouldn’t exactly be the first time Merlin had stayed, despite Arthur’s good intentions to take things slowly (that had lasted a week). “I suppose we do have an early meeting tomorrow,” he conceded.

“I was thinking of that too,” said Merlin virtuously.

“And it’s not as though this could get any worse in the meantime.”

In hindsight, it was probably an ominous sign that Merlin didn’t answer that one.

.....................

The next morning Arthur woke to an insistent hooting and the familiar feel of Merlin sprawled across his back, thoroughly squashing him into the mattress. He had found that whatever position they fell asleep in, they would always wake this way, as though Merlin were afraid Arthur might be spirited away in the night (which given the whole ‘magic’ thing, Arthur thought was probably not completely unrealistic). The hooting came again, closer and louder this time and Arthur managed to get his face out of the pillow and turn it to see the enormous tawny owl standing on his bedside table, a rolled up newspaper at its feet, and watching him with an expression reminiscent of Gaius.

“Ugh,” said Arthur, who couldn’t even be bothered to be surprised by the things that happened to him anymore. “Merlin, there’s an owl on the table.”

Merlin shifted so he was squashing Arthur even more firmly and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, ‘I’ve got some nuts in my trousers.’

With a concerted effort, Arthur heaved Merlin off, rolled over and sat up. “That had better not be a wizarding chat up line because it’s terrible.”

Merlin blinked up at him, looking both disgruntled at the loss of his Arthur blanket and confused. “What?”

“Never mind. There is an _owl_ on the table, and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.”

“It just wants paying,” said Merlin matter-of-factly, struggling up. He clambered over Arthur (putting his knees in some unfortunate places) and reached for his trousers on the floor, rooting around in the pockets while Arthur and the owl waited, and eventually pulling out some small bronze coins with a triumphant, “Ah ha! See. They’re knuts. K-N-U-T-S.”

With that he carefully placed two of the coins into the pouch tied to the owl’s foot and the owl fluffed its wings, gave them both another deeply disapproving look and took flight through the window Arthur didn’t even remember leaving open.

As Merlin picked up the newspaper and began unrolling it, Arthur flopped back down and tried to remember why he had such a bad feeling about the coming day. He was fairly sure it wasn’t Wednesday, which meant he was saved from Prime Minister’s Question Time opposite Mordred, and he didn’t have dinner with his father and the monthly lecture over his wishy-washy left wing politics.

“Merlin, am I supposed to be doing anything today?” he asked, still sleepy.

There was no response and Arthur tilted his head to see Merlin staring at the front page of his newspaper, eyes wide.

“What? Is there something...” It was probably the combination of the newspaper, Merlin’s frozen expression and his all too hasty exclamation of ‘no, nothing! Nothing at all,’ that finally tipped Arthur’s faint feeling of dread into full realisation of just what had happened the day before. “Oh god, give me that.”

Merlin immediately tried to fling himself out of bed and towards the window, presumably to toss the newspaper as far away as possible, but Arthur hadn’t been an award winning sportsman at school for nothing, and anyway Merlin got his foot caught in the duvet. In the end it was all too easy to wrestle the newspaper from Merlin’s hands, turn it over and brace himself, because really, how bad could it be?

 _SEX SPELLS AND HORNY GOATS. PAINTINGS TELL ALL ABOUT MINISTER’S SECRET MEETINGS WITH MUGGLE._

 _Minister says his new man has a ‘magic’ tongue! Turn to page 2 for more details of his shocking outburst._

There was a very long and horrified silence.

“I’ll tell them it was a tea light,” said Merlin feebly.

Arthur let his head drop down to the carpet with a thud and tried to think of a way to hide this from Morgana for the rest of his life.

The End.


End file.
